


I know you from somewhere in my dreams

by lara_s



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 00:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11725767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lara_s/pseuds/lara_s
Summary: I guess you could call this a modern day AU reincarnation of the spirits of Laura and Bill type fic.





	I know you from somewhere in my dreams

The dreams have been a part of Laura Roslin for so long she can’t remember now precisely when they first started.  Definitely by her teenage years, she thinks, since she distinctly recalls more than one restless night lying in her childhood bed.

 

It isn't until her twenties that she finally realizes the various disjointed scenes she sees so often in her sleep seem to be connected, all part of a greater whole.  Like a serial novel written by her subconscious except it isn’t being read to her in any sort of linear fashion and she has no idea what is going on.  That’s when unraveling the story becomes a minor lifelong obsession and she starts writing down whatever she can remember as soon as she wakes up each morning.   

 

The dreams are notoriously fickle and unreliable though, frustratingly not coming with any sort of order or regularity.  Once she dreamed every night for two weeks straight.  She thought she might actually be losing her grip on reality, so immersed she became in that other world.  Thankfully that had been back when she was still teaching and over summer break to boot so she’d been able to afford the distraction.  Shortly after her family died, the dreams didn’t come at all for over a year.  When they resumed again, she wasn’t sure whether to be glad or disappointed.

 

Sometimes it’s the same dream.   _ The jungle.   _ That one she’s had no less than seven times and can remember with vivid clarity.  

 

_ Bone tired, dirty and soaking wet.  Cold and there’s a sharp aching pain in her chest.  Despite the physical symptoms that have her wanting to crawl into a ball, a small group of people are looking to her for guidance.  They are searching for something…  Something vitally important.  She has risked much and sacrificed even more to be there.  It’s dangerous but what she seeks is worth it and nearby, within grasp…  The people believe in her, need her and she can’t let them down.  She has to find it... _

 

The jungle dream isn’t so bad actually.  Laura tends to wake up from that one feeling rather rejuvenated and hopeful. 

 

Not all the dreams are like that.  A fair number are downright nightmarish.   _ She’s standing by a tall glass window looking out over an unfamiliar city going up in flames.  Screams and chaos and panic.   _ That one leaves her in a cold sweat every time.   _ Metal robots pulling her out of a tent, dragging her to a concrete cell where she is subsequently interrogated and tortured.   _ That one she’s blessedly only had once but she’s never forgotten it.  It has haunted her ever since.

 

Then there are the erotic dreams, always different, but always featuring the same faceless man.   _ They are arguing heatedly about something then he’s grabbing her, kissing her senseless and she’s giving back just as good, all the passion behind their words transformed into pure raw desire.  Other times it’s tender and sweet, lying curled up together under the stars.   _ Those are the dreams that have her waking up body trembling with tears in her eyes. 

 

Is it any wonder she refuses to let Richard spend the night?  Not that he would ever ask and she is glad for it.  She isn’t about to admit to her boss and married lover, or anyone else for that matter, that the ever practical, logical, Laura Roslin has such an active inner fantasy life.   

 

When, at a hurried lunchtime doctor's appointment, Congresswoman Roslin finds out she has terminal breast cancer she ends up taking a long overdue afternoon off.  She’d knows she'll be back to the grind the next day, pretending everything is fine as long as she can, but allows herself the luxury of a few hours to come to grips with her looming mortality.  That night unlocks a new chapter to the saga playing out in her head. 

 

_ A dark skinned priestess in flowing robes telling her to allow herself to love.  The man with the deep voice, tears streaming down his face as he places a gold ring on her unfeeling finger.   _

 

At least, she thinks, her dream self doesn’t die alone.

 

**

 

William Adama too has spent a lifetime plagued by vivid and sometimes rather disturbing dreams.  For a long time he simply laughs it off, enjoying it for what it is.   _ Doesn’t every guy fall asleep thinking about epic battles in space and a beautiful woman? _

 

In his dreams, Bill holds the weight of the world on his shoulders, a heavy burden that is eased only by the presence of a sultry redhead.  Always around her the dreams revolve.  

 

_ Dancing to unfamiliar music in a crowd of people, his touch appropriately platonic as he guides her expertly around the dance floor.  And yet he longs to hold her tighter, crush her against his chest and never let go, even as he knows for some undefined reason he can't.  The longing is nearly unbearable. _

 

Often she appears as a fierce warrior queen, regal and stunning, with eyes blazing as she faces down some threat and he is in awe of her ferocity.  Other times she’s playful, carefree and laughing as she clutches his arm, her joy contagious and he knows he would do absolutely anything for this woman at his side.  And when the dreams inevitably veer towards the more explicit, when his subconscious lets him kneel between her thighs, it’s the best sex he’s ever had, even if it’s all in his mind.  

 

He tries to tell Carolanne at one point, tactfully omitting the more raunchier aspects of course.  Wants to explain about waking up with haunting visions of exploding spaceships and a lingering inexplicable sense of dread.  How he once dreamed of being shot in the gut point blank by a shadowy figure he thought he trusted and how he felt a phantom scar across his abdomen for weeks afterwards.  He wants theirs to be a real marriage, wants her to know these things about him.  His ex-wife wasn’t interested in listening and brushed him off.  That was when he stopped feeling guilty for the niggling thought that Carolanne, although flesh and blood, could never compare to his dream woman.   

 

These days he’s just another old army general taking an early forced retirement.  He can do nothing but wallow in his dreams all day if he wants.  It’s a tempting way to pass the time.  Or would be except lately not even his fantasy world is cooperating.  Lately his dreams are filled with scenes of his beautiful goddess taking her last breath in his arms.  The visions are disturbing enough he actually actively avoids going to sleep and had taken to downing a robust amount of whiskey each night before bed.       

 

**

 

“Don’t you dare, Billy.  If you call 911, I swear, I will never forgive you.”  

 

Billy slowly puts down the phone in his hand, shoving it in his back pocket as he considers his next move.  Roslin is somehow managing to look as poised as ever and glaring rather convincingly at him even as she lay sprawled on the floor.  The urgency of his concern fades slightly as he realizes she is conscious and arguing with him so things could be worse.

 

She’s right.  He’s come to learn she usually is.  A frantic call to 911 is probably overkill and Billy hates to admit it but there are political ramifications that need to be considered here too, but he can’t not do anything either.

 

“Ok.  But you still need to go to the hospital and get checked out ma’am,” he finally says softly.  

 

He knows about her cancer.  Even if she hadn’t confided in him last month about her condition, he’s seen the subtle signs of her sickness that have only been getting worse as the days go by.  She hides it well.  Even Billy hadn’t expected her to collapse the moment they made it back to her office following the press conference.  But collapse she had.  

 

“I know,” she says and her far too easy acquiescence tells Billy exactly how much pain his stoic boss must be in.  “You take me.  I can manage to get to the parking garage.  We’ll go the back way.”

 

He nods and helps her to her feet.  They are almost to the door when she asks him to go back to fetch a leather bound book out of her desk.

 

**

 

“There’s been an accident involving your son, Sir…  Expected to live but currently in critical condition…”

 

The words from the unexpected phone call play over and over again in his head.  Bill can’t stop the pounding of his heart.  He’s already effectively lost one child what with Lee refusing to talk to him for going on five plus years now.  Bill can’t lose the one son who actually does talk to him.  He just can’t.

 

The ER is a chaotic scene when he arrives, though he manages to stop a harried looking nurse long enough to ask about Zak.  “The young man in the motorcycle collision?”  She consults a nearby computer terminal.  “Room 5B.  He’s in surgery now but they should be bringing him back in about an hour.  You can go on and wait for him there.”

 

5B is at the end of a long hallway and blissfully removed from most of the hustle and bustle.  The designer handbag tossed on the bed gives Bill pause, but the medical chart clipped to the headboard clearly says ‘Adama’.  Starbuck must be here, he thinks.  The bag doesn’t seem like Kara’s style, she’s more of an army duffle kind of girl, but then again his son’s fiancee is a constant enigma.  Bill can’t think of anyone else the purse could possibly belong to.  Certainly not Zak’s mother who he knows to be on a cruise and likely unreachable and unaware of what has happened.    

 

Bill settles down in a surprisingly not too uncomfortable chair only to discover that he’s too worked up to sit still.  It’s unlikely that anything will sufficiently distract him from his worry about Zak at this point, but he’s got a while to wait and has to try something.  Catching sight of a book sticking out of Kara’s purse he decides Starbuck will not mind if he browses her reading material.  Lords know she helps herself to his alcohol and selection of action/adventure movies whenever she’s over at his place.  About time a little reciprocation is in order.  Though, knowing Kara, there could be anything from comics to porn behind the respectable exterior cover.  Bill is desperate enough under the circumstances to check it out.

 

Flipping through the pages Bill discovers two things immediately; that he’s holding a journal of sorts, not a book, and the elegant cursive script isn’t Kara’s at all.  In no way intending to snoop, he’s about to quickly return the object from where he found it when his eyes catch on a particular line.

 

_ I’m on a spaceship again but it’s not what I recognize as -my- spaceship, my home.  This one is different, with dim lights and an eerie reddish glow.  It’s, well, creepy.  Those awful mechanical robots are all around too but they seem to be held at bay for the moment.  I am worried but not afraid.  I know he is coming for me.  If he is not, he is dead, in which case I welcome death myself and the machines can do no worse to me... _

 

He recognizes that description.  A perfect, flowing, lyrical description of one of the enemy basestars from his dreams.  Bill is stunned.  He couldn’t put the book down now if his life depended on it.  

 

Unfortunately he has to because that’s the exact moment a young man in a suit walks in.  “Hey!  This is supposed to be a private room.  Who are you and what are you doing with Ms. Roslin’s things?  Thief!  I’m calling security!”

“No, no.  Wait.”  Bill quickly hands over the book.  “I'm sorry.  The nurse told me this is my son’s bed.  I thought the purse was my daughter in law’s…  I didn’t mean to…”

 

The boy eyes him suspiciously but hesitates in carrying out his threat of calling security.

 

“Billy?  Is that you?  What’s going on?”  A hoarse whisper comes from behind the privacy curtain dividing the room.  Bill hadn’t even realized there was someone else in the room until now.  The feminine voice is weak but conveys unmistakable authority.

 

The boy glares at Bill.  “Everything’s fine, ma’am,” he calls back, swiftly gathering up the purse on Zak’s bed.  Muttering something about the hospital’s obvious lack of respect for Very Important People, he disappears behind the curtain.

 

Bill lasts all of five minutes before he makes a knocking noise on the wall and calls out, “Excuse me?  I really am sorry about the misunderstanding and I don’t want to compound my rudeness by interrupting but can I talk to you for a minute?”  

 

He can’t help it.  He has to know about this journal and the person who wrote it.  Before they can tell him no or have him hauled away as a crazy person he starts to talk in a rush. 

 

“Just so you know, the Admiral does rescue the President from that ship.  He sends the rest of the fleet away to safety and goes after her alone.  It's an almost certain suicide mission but he doesn't care.  He can't live without her.  When they are reunited she tells him she loves him.” 

 

He hears a stunned gasp and then a sharp “Billy, open the damn curtain right now.”

 

Grey green eyes meet sky blue ones and he  _ knows _ .  This woman is wearing a headscarf over her bald head, but even without the fiery mane he knows it is her.  She seems to recognize him as well.  Without looking away, she addresses the kid in the suit who's staring at the two of them with open mouthed shock. 

 

“Would you please go back to the office and create a draft of that proposal we were discussing?  Bring by whatever you come up with tomorrow and we'll finalize it then.” 

 

“Are you sure ma'am?  I mean I can still do that later tonight if you want me to stick around a little while longer…”

 

“Thank you, but I am as fine as I’m going to be.  Get out of here and go get some work done.  I'll see you tomorrow.” 

 

Her tone leaves no room for argument.  As soon as the boy does as asked and leaves her attention is fully back to Bill.  

 

“I don’t suppose it’s possible we’re both somehow remembering the same obscure science fiction novel are we?”

 

He grins.  “Doubt it.”

 

“Yeah,” she sighs and he can see her gathering her resolve.  “I don’t think so either.  I’d love to compare notes.  Flesh out the story more.  Do you have any idea…”  The words break off as she’s forced to stop, painful coughs racking her small frame.

 

There’s a glass of water on a nearby tray.  He places it to her lips, helping her take a few sips all the while taking the liberty of gently rubbing her back.  The coughing fit has dulled the excitement and wonder that had been her eyes only minutes previously.  When she’s able to talk again she gestures at the plethora of needles in her arms and says bluntly with a touch of bitterness, “I expect we both know how things end.  I'm not dying today or tomorrow or even by the end of the week, but it won't be very long now.”

 

He winces.  “No.  No.  I’ve only just found you.  We’ll write a new ending,” he vows, reaching for her hand.   


End file.
